


Adrenaline

by AmbulanceRobots



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bass Cannon implied, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, McCree is the best big brother, at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbulanceRobots/pseuds/AmbulanceRobots
Summary: When she first catches wind of Lúcio, Zarya doesn't think much of his potential in the field. When she actually sees him, it doesn't really improve. The man is tiny. Friendly and likable, but tiny. Music healing? Please.The universe decides to happily, decisively, school her on her error. Zarya's not sure her endocrine system can keep up.McCree is just along for the ride. TL;DR: Zarya is high on adrenaline and techno music, and she is not sure how she feels about it.





	

When Zarya first met the tiny medic, she would admit to being… relatively unimpressed. Too small and pretty and _friendly_ to have seen any meaningful amount of pitched combat, or so her instincts told her.

“Small” being the word of most note. A full-grown man, and Lúcio stood barely as high as her shoulder. If the affable bickering between the two of them held any truth, then he was a couple centimeters _shorter_ than Tracer (and Tracer was a legitimate pixy to begin with). At the very least, she thought wryly, he would be easy to protect; probably couldn’t even _see_ him if he stood behind her. Which, in her mind, was exactly where medics belonged anyways.

Speaking of, he had the oddest equipment set she had yet seen in Overwatch. While entirely unarmored from the waist up (and she hadn’t ever seen him wear any top heavier than a t-shirt), the plating on his legs didn’t look so much like armor as it did a fully articulate sound system. Never mind the speaker on his back and… whatever his sidearm was supposed to be (another speaker? It had a trigger. A speaker with a trigger, what the actual hell). Her assumptions were not incorrect. Overhearing conversations between him and other agents, as Zarya herself had yet to be placed on a mission with him, his entire repertoire of skills revolved around the emission of sound that apparently had effects greater than what could be normally expected. This evidently included his most effective medical abilities; _he played music to heal people._ It sounded utterly ridiculous, the dream child of those most dedicated to alternative medicine. She would stick to good old fashioned chemistry and biology, thanks (and yes, she was quite aware _exactly_ how Dr. Zeigler’s most potent abilities worked, which was why she had endeavored hard to come back from each outing with as few injuries as possible, even if lying was necessary; no offense to the good doctor, but she _did not_ want a colony of nanites _inside_ her).

Her critique of his modus operandi aside, she did not dislike him. Outgoing and gracious and highly sensitive to social cues, he was pretty much approachable by everyone. She couldn’t list a single person in Gibraltar thus far that had any concrete issue with him. Energetic and unflappable, but not to the point where those of more dour personalities wanted to punch him, but Zarya was sure the levels of palpable joy were freely adjustable depending on his proximity to certain people. It struck her that he would make an absolutely lethal diplomat. A good skill set for a performer too, she supposed (and while such a career did little to bolster her admittedly not firsthand opinion of his combat acumen, it did not lessen her attitude of him as a person either). And, while her taste in music did not generally align with his for casual entertainment, she could wholly admit with her pride intact that more than a few of his tracks made for good listening in the gym. She had mentioned such offhandedly once, and he had beamed and skipped for the entire day, as if it was the highest compliment that he was capable of receiving.

Did she mention that this tiny elf man was too pretty for combat? Tiny elf man was too pretty for combat. Shit.

And Zarya still thought such right now. They were at the rearmost hatch of the small plane that was dropping them in a dark hidden alley. Herself, Lúcio, and McCree were the emergency backup, sent when a semi-frantic call came in from the crew originally tasked with “confiscating” something of import from Talon’s custody (Zarya had not bothered to remember exactly what it was; it was already in the possession of the original assault team, even if they were now having difficulty getting out under the hail of highly persistent gunfire, and its description had been so highly technical that her brain had barely been able to whittle it down to “complicated server”). Aforementioned heavy gunfire was the reason that they could not land any closer to the assault team’s coordinates, even with Tracer’s truly commendable piloting, unless all four of them wanted to die a fiery death when Talon sent them nose-first into the ground. Tracer herself was going then park the craft elsewhere, to make sure that it was still intact when they decided to withdraw.

Their task was relatively straightforward: they were going to pincer a section of the surrounding Talon units with the assault team, enough to break the line and give them a route of escape. Tracer, from the other side, was going to assist with the extraction.

Straightforward. In practice.

McCree held his ridiculous hat on his head to keep it in place under the wash from the ship, turning only when the roar of the engines was light enough to hear normal speech, pulling his similarly ridiculous sidearm from its holster. A _revolver_? How antiquated. Still, she had actually seen him use it, and there was no denying that this man’s aim was frighteningly well honed. It was more than enough for her to mind her manners about her opinion of his choice of weapon. Lúcio was along as their support, their medic, and because the high walls of the old industrial park afforded him a surprising degree of mobility. With his glowing green hard light skates. Whatever.

Oh yes, that was another thing; never mind emitting sound, his suit, skates, and weapon all _glowed_. He was a walking concert, complete with light show. Heaven forbid a sniper realize he was the group medic, because they were going to be able to pick him off from blocks away. If Zarya could put him in an opaque sack and just carry him until he was needed, she would feel better about his safety.

Next to her, McCree adjusted his hat before heading down an adjacent alley to theirs. He beckoned for the both of them to follow. He kept the pace quick, and Zarya hefted her cannon over her shoulder as she made after him.

“C’mon, kids, let’s get this show on the road. Soldier’ll have a cow if we don’t show our faces soon.” Zarya could hear McCree’s spurs jingle as he walked. It was a combination of mildly curious and slightly irritating. He looked over his shoulder at Lúcio. “Ya best keep yer beats to yerself for a spell. Don’t wanna give Talon a chance to hear us comin’.”

 _Says the man wearing jingly metal bits on his boots._ At least they were in agreement about Lúcio’s ability to attract unwanted attention. The medic grinned in good humor.

“Yes sir, Captain Jangleheels, sir.”

 _Right?_ Zarya resisted a huff. Was this how the entire rest of her day was destined to go? Probably.

McCree smirked around an unlit cigar, but did not slow his pace in the slightest.

“My spurs are nowhere near the league of yer ability to blow out eardrums.”

Zarya wondered, for a medic to heal someone with sound waves ( _apparently,_ she would believe it when she saw it), how loud did the noise need to be? If she came up out of the blackness of unconsciousness the last thing she wanted was having her head slammed with that clamor. Whatever that clamor sounded like. All second hand accounts seemed assured that it was actually music. Hn. 

They were only a couple minutes into their hike when they heard several sudden bursts of gunfire. The assault team must be moving around, if Talon was able to take shots at them. A cold sensation slithered up the back of Zarya’s neck; odd, though, why weren’t they able to hear—

“Shit, are we being jammed?”

She let her eyes slide sideways, where Lúcio had slowed slightly to fiddle with his earpiece and visor. She reflexively tapped her own communicator. It was absolutely silent, spare a couple flakes of static here and there. Up ahead, McCree was doing much the same. 

“Fuck. Is that why we ain’t gettin’ nothin’ on the comms?”

“I dunno, man. Don’t we have, like, the best of the best tech on that end, though?” Zarya felt her jaw clench. He wasn’t wrong; Overwatch’s encrypted systems where nigh impenetrable. Or so they had been told. If Talon had something in development that could shut that down, then they had chosen a nice, terrible time to test it out.

“That’s a mighty fine question for Winston, when we get back.” McCree stopped at an intersection, having a cautious look around. He tossed a glance at Lúcio. “Anythin’ ya think ya can do about it?”

“Maybe. Not so much while we’re on the move, though. I’d need a moment to attempt to isolate what’s blockin’ us.”

“We ain’t got that kind of time. _They_ ain’t got that kind of time.” He motioned for them to go, and they made a quiet(ish) sprint across the intersection. No one shot at them. “Yer HUD still kickin’?”

“Yup, I still got their signals up. Whatever Talon did, it blocks our comms, not our beacons.”

McCree let out a rough sigh that Zarya thought actually looked out of place without the associated cigar smoke.

“Not bein’ able to coordinate blows ass, but thank the Lord fer small mercies.” McCree chewed his cigar. “If we can see them, they can see us. Soldier will have someone keepin’ track of us, fer sure, if he ain’t doin’ it himself.”

There was another burst of gunfire, followed by the signature light whistle and explosion of Soldier:76’s helix rockets. Between the sounds of combat and Lúcio’s visor, they knew exactly where to head. Zarya rolled her cannon off of her shoulder, feeling it settle comfortably in her grip. It calmed her nerves.

McCree signed again, and gave them a look over.

“Awright, we’re gonna go ahead and git our asses in there. Darlin’, you take point,” and he canted his head in Zarya’s direction. She didn’t argue; she greatly preferred standing in front, regardless. “Frogger and I will watch yer flanks.” McCree smirked, and patted his hat down. He gave Lúcio’s shoulder a playful nudge. “Kid, get us there. Nice and easy, first, don’t wanna let ‘em hear ya roar ‘til we’re breathin’ down their necks.”

And Lúcio’s face split into one of his wide, dazzling grins.

“Aw, yeah! Let’s pump this _up!_ ” He fiddled with his visor and unholstered his gun… subwoofer… thing. He gripped it firmly in one hand, nodded at her and smiled. McCree tipped his hat.

They were ready, then? Good.

Zarya tightened her grip on her cannon as she bolted from their cover, heading in the direction of the echoing bullet rounds. She kept her eyes peeled well ahead and above them, looking briefly at just about every rooftop they passed, waiting for the ambush. Talon had a perimeter around the assault team; they should start running into interference soon.

Behind her, Lúcio’s equipment was pulsing out something familiar; she’d heard bars of it before, probably at the base. It was fast and upbeat, and not unpleasant. It wrapped around her and settled in her ears, and she felt… oddly light. Not just light, but _fast_. She became aware of her speed, and only because of the endorphin-filled rush that usually accompanied a dead sprint. She could run like this while unencumbered. Fully armored and bearing her cannon? Not without some fatigue. And there was _no fatigue_. The rumbling beat settled in her chest, like being at a concert but without the accompanying assault on her eardrums, and her cannon felt like _nothing_. Well, not quite; she could still feel the weight, but the adrenaline pumping around her head was masking any attempt that her body may have been making to contradict that she felt _great_ , amazing even, and it was hard to register the scenery as it flew by.

At least, until it flew passed her shoulder.

A shot, from up ahead. A small group of Talon agents. Five, if there weren’t others. And there were others; 76 could lead a group against just five Talon operatives. The first shot had missed, but they had been seen, and the next ones may not be so off the mark.

She was high on adrenaline and a deep, thundering bass, and she was fresh out of fucks to give about subtly anymore.

She thumbed across the switch for her shields, feeling the particle core in her cannon hum happily to oblige. She got the satisfaction of feeling the engine of her cannon feed greedily on the momentum of each bullet she soaked—which then fell harmlessly to the asphalt below—and she went to town on the trigger. They were still on rapid approach, still with no exhaustion is sight, and Talon had only a few moments to react before they were right on top of them. That was just fine with Zarya; cannons were made to be fired, but hers was heavy enough to crush most people when wielded at point-blank range.

McCree made sure she never had to. Her particle pulse had obliterated the two centermost operatives, and he was making quick work of the other three. While his revolver may be a far smaller firearm with comparatively small rounds and only six shots before he had to reload, size didn’t matter so much when he managed to bury each of those bullets in someone’s throat, heart, or brain. Zarya’s sprint took them over the dead or dying operatives, and she gave them no further thought; the adrenaline smothered any thoughts other than what was immediately in front of her.

“Take this next left, right here!” Lúcio, at least, was still of enough mind to navigate. Made sense; it was his system. He was probably well aware of its idiosyncrasies. She grunted to let him know that she had heard him, and she swung wide around the next corner as directed.

Right into another Talon patrol, probably on their way to investigate the sudden radio silence of the team that Zarya had just stepped over. She brought the muzzle of her cannon to bear; there were far more than five, this time, closer to a dozen, and unless McCree had reloaded his revolver in the last few seconds, he only had three bullets left. Her personal shield was still recharging, although her shield projector was operable. She ground her teeth and tightened her grip. Unless she could get to some cover or these shits had gone to the Stormtrooper School of Marksmanship (heh, thank you Reinhardt, you giant old nerd), this was going to be really damned painful.

She heard a ‘tsk’ from Lúcio, and she could see him move his sidearm out of her peripheral vision.

“Hold onto your butts, guys, I’m gonna drop a beat!”

A low, rumbling sound burst out from his equipment, so deep she almost couldn’t hear it, and it vibrated against her heart and bones and inner ears. It was not entirely uncomfortable, if highly unusual. The air curled around her and Lúcio and McCree, rolling and thickening into strange pockets. Like her shield, but made out of sound and air.

None of the Talon bullets made any contact at all.

But the effect was unwinding, quickly, the air returning to its stagnant state as the sound escaped into the dark alleys. And Talon still had a lot of bullets. Lúcio, in a fit of what Zarya would only call absolute gutter-licking stupidity, skated around her. _In front_ of her. Where he was going to be shot. Their medic was going to be shot, and even with the strange rave still pumping out of his suit she did not move fast enough to catch him and yank him back behind her. He was still grinning like a loon, too.

“While I’m at it, think I’ll bring some bass, too!” He keyed something else on the subwoofer. He coaxed out another pulsing wave of sound, but this one was a deep, hard crack instead of the gentle curl of the last one. Air, debris, and Talon agents _moved,_ were _thrown,_ as the wave bulled over them. The fortunate were sent skidding down the street. The unfortunate collided with any number of hard, bone snapping objects that were commonly found in an industrial park. Poles. Buildings. Things that heads, ribs, and spines were loathe to collide with on a good day.

And just like that, they had some room to breathe. If now had been the time, Zarya would have given Lúcio a look worthy of her incredulity. Tiny little rock star could do _that_ with a _subwoofer_?

From here, the prone were easily handled. She paused her charge only to aim, sweeping her particle beam over anything that she felt may get up and start to shoot back. McCree and Lúcio picked off the stranglers (and whatever Lúcio was shooting out of the subwoofer were most certainly not bullets. Plasma? Sound _and_ plasma? Her head hurt), and they all had to roll for cover at least once. McCree stopped to reload, before raking his gaze along the roofs. The rounds of fire up ahead was near constant now. 76’s team knew they were coming, knew they were close, and they were chipping away at their side of the blockade.

If they were planning on assisting, now was an excellent time to do so.

McCree straightened and adjusted his serape, taking a look around before moving back towards Lúcio, under an awning near a wall. Zarya followed suit.

“Well, reckon Talon knows we’re here now, what with all the noise and that almost two dozen of ‘em ain’t gonna be checkin’ in.” He finally took that unnecessary, unlit cigar out of his mouth. “Let’s not dawdle here any—”

Movement, above them. Lots of Talon agents. A couple dozen, maybe, and they were moving swiftly to intercept the vigorous push the assault team was making. They hadn’t spotted their small group, yet, but any advance would certainly pull notice. McCree dropped a few soft curses, pulling out a pair of flash bangs with his off hand.

“Where’re we headed, kid?”

“Right there.” And Lúcio gestured down the street, towards a large, nondescript building with no windows. The only door on their side was a metal rollup. Talon was milling about the roof. They were at the skylights, most likely, looking in. “They’re inside, for sure. We’re almost there!” Did he ever _stop_ smiling? He had been in good spirits this entire evening. 

“Sure, we just gotta run this gauntlet first.” He holstered his revolver only long enough to scratch at his beard. “Our cover is sure as blown, so let’s make one hell of an entrance, yeah?”

If possible, Lúcio grinned wider. 

“All the way in?” 

“All the way in. Think ya can do somethin’ about that door when we get there, sweetheart?”

And it seemed Lúcio’s elevated mood was somewhat contagious. She rested her cannon against her hip, shooting McCree a smirk.

“ _What_ door?”

“Atta girl.” He cast one last look towards the rooftops. “I’ll do what I can to keep them offa us, but expect to dance around a little hot lead.” He let a long breath out between his teeth. “Well, now or never, I suppose. Let ‘er rip, Bullfrog.”

“Let’s amp this shit up, then!”

Zarya hefted her cannon back up, and took off down the street, Lúcio and McCree right on her heels. Despite everything, up to and including the imminent threat of death, it was a thrill to be moving a gain, running with the tiny frog medic’s music rumbling in her ears.

Of course, that rumbling music was attracting attention. Most of the operatives up on the roof remained attentive to the warehouse, but a handful swung their rifle barrels in their direction. Zarya could see their laser scopes on the ground, ahead of them. She heard McCree grunt, and watched a flash bang sail overhead to clatter up onto the roof. She was prepared for the sharp, loud crack that accompanied it, and she watched objects down on street level throw shadows.

On her other side, Lúcio’s suit made a sudden loud air-sucking sound, and then the volume spiked. The constant, energetic rumble induced by the thumping bass became a loud roar (oh, _that’s_ what McCree meant), and the river of adrenaline that she had been racing became a flood. She didn’t really know how else to describe it. It reverberated through her bones, her brain, every muscle, and she was almost certain that her heart was vibrating and her blood was on fire. Her breathing felt slow, and deep, and _easy_ , especial when taken along side the breakneck speeds she was achieving. Even unencumbered, she had never run this fast in her life. A new personal best for sure. She felt like she could do this forever. Or jump over a whole damned building. Or rip that metal rollup door right out of its frame—

Oh yeah, the door. Well, as good a time as any to try. And forget bothering to stop and pull, she just tucked a shoulder and led with her particle cannon. Which, for her own mental note later, she could no longer feel. At all. Was it heavy? Who knew?

Zarya put a single particle burst into one of the lower corners of the door, shattering the old padlock, and her momentum carried her inside the rest of the way. She heard several loud snaps as her weight and speed and unyielding strength popped the door’s wheels right off the tracks. It was still attached to the housing above the doorway, but they were in. Lúcio ducked in behind her, followed by McCree who tossed another flash bang behind him.

That was amazing. She was amazing, they were all amazing and she could do that all over again. Where the hell was Talon? She had energy to burn and she was almost tempted to go the rest of this mission fighting with her bare hands—

All at once, the rush left as the sound from Lúcio’s equipment dimmed, and the silence was almost deafening. She was aware, acutely, of the sudden feeling of heaviness, before she realized it was her own weight. Oh, and she could feel her cannon again.

Lúcio picked his way towards where she was standing. He grinned up at her, before his brow furrowed a bit.

“You okay, Z?”

And she just stared blankly, trying desperately to remember where the rest of her brain went. Everything felt so _slow._

Lúcio gently nudged her arm.

“Breathe, please. You’re startin’ to worry me.”

Breathe? She was breathing. See, like—oohh, no she wasn’t. Zarya let out the breath that she hadn’t known she’d been holding. That explained the slight lightheadedness, which was now quickly on its way out. He was smiling again, and he gave her a gentle punch to her shoulder, a gesture she returned partially to test to see if the tingling in her limbs was a hamper on her mobility. It was not, nor on her strength, and Lúcio gave a little ground. He just leaned into his skates and let the force push him.

“There she is! Back to normal.”

McCree gave a soft snort.

“Less standin’, more movin’, kiddos.” He reloaded his revolver, before looking around. “Now that we’re in, let’s get to 76 before the old man shits blood. Or Talon puts a couple bullets in our friends. Either way.”

“Sweet. Let’s get to it.” And there was more gunfire. Nearby, and directly overhead. “That looks like Hanzo and Junkrat up on the roof, and Reinhardt, 76, and the rest are adjacent to the courtyard.”

McCree cocked a brow.

“How the hell are ya seein’ the roof from in here?”

And Lúcio tapped his visor.

“I’m not.”

“I ain’t ever shittin’ on those beacons interferin’ with my privacy ever again after this.”

Lúcio gave him a pointed stare.

“Yes, you will.”

“Yeah, I will.” McCree didn’t even fight it.

And if the building hadn’t given a hard shudder, the kind that heavily implied liberal application of Reinhardt’s hammer, Zarya was sure they would have continued. Lúcio began to skate backwards, towards a door on the far side of the warehouse.

“I’m going on ahead, gonna see if they need me.”

McCree just tilted his hat in affirmation.

“Don’t worry about us; if we need ya, we’ll scream.”

Lúcio spun on his skates to dart through the doorway, but not before shooting them a cheeky grin.

“You’ll scream, Zarya will just punch the danger in the face.”

At any other time, when she wasn’t still gathering bits of her sanity back into some lucid order, she would have returned the grin and sent it off with a showy flex. McCree just scowled. It carried no heat.

“Nice to hear yer confidence in me.”

The little medic gave them one last wave before disappearing around the corner. McCree gave a grunt, before looking her over. She didn’t have it in her to let it bother her today.

“You awright, darlin’?”

“Yes, I will be fine.” She cracked her neck, and lifted her cannon. “We should go, before we lose him.”

“Mm,” was McCree’s only response as he followed her jog across the empty warehouse, towards the door on the other side. Even from here, they could hear Reinhardt’s roar. McCree gave her a sideways look. “Yer first time ridin’ with the DJ?”

“…Yes.”

“It’s a doozy, the first time feelin’ it. Trust me, it gets easier to keep yer head on straight once you know what to expect.”

“I…” she had to find the proper words in English, made harder now that she could feel the edges of fatigue starting to creep slowly back in. It was a strange, alien sensation, even after just a few minutes of feeling nigh invulnerable. “I read his file. They told me, mostly, how his equipment works. What it does. I did not believe it.” She set her jaw.

An amused snort.

“And he’s a tiny thing, too. That’s Overwatch; destroying preconceptions left ‘n right. And you ain’t even seen him _heal_ someone with that getup yet.”

She felt herself frown. No, she had not seen that. And for the first time since meeting him, she wholly believed it could happen. Not a doubt to be found anywhere. They heard the muffled _whump_ that could only be Lúcio activating his strange sound shields again, and Zarya lengthened her stride. Talon must be really applying the pressure, if the medic was on the defensive already.

“What else is he capable of?”

McCree gave a lazy half-shrug.

“Other than slidin’ right up the walls like a lizard? Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised any if he found all sorts of new ways to use that stuff of his.”

And Zarya felt her lips quirk a little. No, she would not, either. She had learned more about sound manipulation in the last five minutes than she thought she could learn in her life. And Lúcio hadn’t even gotten to the healing bits yet. She fully expected, over her tenure here, to see some interesting things come out of the man’s unique repertoire of abilities.

It would be several months later, in a dark room with her back against one of the giant, similarly unique speakers stored in his quarters, and she could feel the energy in her bones and blood and heart and he needed to stop smiling like that because it wasn’t helping whatever was going on inside her chest, that yes, she was sure he could find new uses for his abilities.

Oh, and that lack of fatigue that came with his sound tech?

It was the best thing.

Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Lúcio is the sweetest, most badass precious little cookie-face, and Zarya is going to eat him alive. 
> 
> My head canon says that if you put McCree and Lúcio on a mission together, they will be little shits. If you add either Genji or Lena (or both if you're insane), someone's gonna find glitter in their pants.
> 
> This was finished at, like, 0300, so I'm sure it's got typos and weird shit in it even though my friend was kind enough to sift through this monster on Skype and find what errors she could find. I'll edit it again when my eyelids don't feel like sandpaper.


End file.
